Sleeping Sirens (a thousand curses on you and yours if you dismiss me)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: It was vindication. Classical aggression. A release he didn't even know he needed until his knuckle split across the bastard's cheekbone. Feeling the crunching split of fragmented bone as he hauled back and punched him again. Something in him howling as the man cried out. Trying to shove him away. Trying to-
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is inspired by the popular "Jessie as the abuser rather than Pete" theory expanded on by Ikkleosu. Despite prevailing spoilers debunking the idea, I couldn't let this intriquing idea for a twist go so easily. Please use your discretion while reading, this story deals with some heavy subject material. – The first chapter is told in Rick's point of view.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all the ASZ episodes. Follows the idea of fitting into canon as a 'missing scene' type of fic whenever the big reveal happens. *****Contains: adult language, adult content, domestic violence, domestic abuse, blood, violence, broken bones, physical and emotional spousal abuse, potentially triggering scenes, language and allusion to past and present abuse.

**Sleeping Sirens (a thousand curses on you and yours lest you dismiss my fears)**

_**Chapter One**_

He wasn't really aware of what was going on outside the rage roaring through him. Finding himself barely afloat, barely able to form a conscious thought beyond the sense of righteousness that fueled him.

After what Carol had said the night before. After what had been niggling at him – cancerous and gaping – every time he'd seen the two of them together since the day they'd all arrived. All it had taken was the sight of Jessie limping down the back steps of the pantry. Sighing in frustration as Olivia chirped sympathetically. Helping her with some boxes as the cheerful woman filled the sullen silence with something about being an eternal klutz herself, almost always falling down the main set of stairs in her house.

He hadn't even stopped.

He didn't have to.

Didn't need to.

_Didn't want to._

He'd seen enough. Seen enough to know what had to be done.

_What he would have to do._

The tips of his fingers ghosted across the clips of his holster.

After all, who would blame him?

There was no place for that kind of man here.

People like Pete didn't deserve safety.

_A wife._

_A family._

_They didn't deserve this life._

Not like he did, not like-

He felt a grim smile spread across his lips, tugging at the chapped outsides as he took the front steps of Jessie's house at an easy lope. Feeling the biting chill of the wind flash-freeze across his teeth as the expression went feral. Hopeful. _Anticipatory._

He didn't slow. He just turned the knob – _unlocked, perfect _– in mid-lunge. Rocking the thick pane on its hinges as the door hit the opposite wall with a shuddering thud. Startling Pete from where he was crouched on the edge of the sofa, in the middle of unwrapping a thick tensor from around Eric's ankle.

The man's hair – a drab, faded sort of straw – flared out as he stumbled to his feet, half in front of Eric as the red-head struggled to sit upright. Staring wide-eyed around the curve of Pete's left hip as a strangled note of surprise issued in the air above their heads.

"You son of a bitch," he hissed, crossing the distance before the man could get his mouth to work. Crowding into his space as the taller man took a step backwards, then another. Ignoring the sound of Eric talking. Ignoring the strange, thin sort of whine that got wrenched from Pete's lips when his back connected with the wall. Shaking the photographs and framed art as the sound of footsteps running up the front porch after him barely registered.

"What did you do, huh?" he growled, one hand slamming out, connecting with the drywall just beside the asshole's head as the wall concaved with the force of it. "Was knocking her around not enough for you?"

"Rick, I-I don't-" Pete started, stuttering, face a strange white-washed pale where he'd expected anger-red and huffing excuses that ended when he hauled back and jammed his elbow into the man's gut.

"No! You don't get to speak," he bit out, feeling nothing but contempt as Pete keeled over, clutching his stomach, dry heaving across the rug as he spluttered and gasped.

Something inside him purred, stretching out with sharp claws and lithe muscles. Like a great cat playing with its prey before eating it, he couldn't deny that something in him wanted this. Craved it even.

"Rick!"

"You don't get to touch her," he hissed, dragging him up by his hair as Pete cringed – _flinching _– balling his fist and held it up by the man's chin like a threat. "Not her, not your kids, not ever again. You hear me?!"

It was vindication. Classical aggression. A release he didn't even know he needed until his knuckle split across the bastard's cheekbone. Feeling the crunching split of fragmented bone as he hauled back and punched him again. Something in him howling as the man cried out. Trying to shove him away. Trying to-

"Rick! Rick, stop!"

He ignored the man's upraised hands.

The subtle tells.

The growing group of people milling just behind him.

His chin tipped up, blood flecked and brutal sharp as his next hit snapped the man's head back. Sending them both to the floor as he rained down punches, slaps, hits, even the jab of his knee when he could manage it. He shook off the hands trying to pull him up, trying to yank him off the prone form as Pete curled small underneath him – quivering and protective.

But that only made him angrier – _enraged_.

_He didn't deserve what he had and now he wouldn't even fight for it?_

_Pathetic!_

"Look at me," he growled, trying to get the man to face him. "You're going to answer for what you did to her, to your kids. But for now, think of this like a down payment…I said _look_ at me, you bastard!" he yelled, fingers slip-sliding in red as he grabbed the man by the shirt collar and wrenched him to his feet.

It wasn't until a collective gasp shuddered through the room that he looked down – stopping dead. Coming to a cold stop only a few seconds behind the rest of them when he realized that the force of his grip had rucked up Pete's double layers. Baring a ruined, discolored torso that had nothing to do with the damage he'd managed to inflict.

Because there were already bruises there. Deep seeded purples and grays. Mottled reds and the harsh slashes of long finger nails. New, old, fresh, aged. Pete's torso was like a living, breathing canvas of abuse and he- _well_, he shuddered backwards. Repelled. Frozen.

_This wasn't what he'd expected. _

_What he'd thought. _

_He'd been so sure. _

_So confident. _

_So blind._

The hush was dynamite. A muted explosion without voice or sound. Just the heaviness of silence and half a dozen tongues that could not find the words to express themselves.

But the man caught in his grip had no such qualms.

Because instead of shying away, for the first time, Pete lurched up, seizing his shoulders in a strength that firmed into him like the greatest shame. All horrified mortification and dawning guilt as thick fingers dug deep into the curl of his collar. Looking up at him through a swelling eye as Pete caught his gaze and held it, bringing him down inch by inch until they were level with each other. Breathing in the backwash of the other's breaths as the bitter tart of blood and sweat intermingled between them.

"You really are all the same…" Pete remarked brokenly, gargling through a mouthful of blood and mucus that'd already started trickling out the corner of his mouth. Leaking twin ribbons of deep crimson like water from a cracked basin.

"Got laughed out of the police station, t-then the court house," Pete hiccupped, spitting a mouthful of red across the hardwood as his head lolled – weak - legs crumpling underneath him.

He clutched the man instinctively, putting his weight into keeping him upright as the sallow sheen of new and old bruises hazed like blasphemy across his clearing vision.

_He didn't understand._

_He'd been so sure._

_So sure that Jessie had been-_

"I tried to get a restraining order, temporary custody…anything. But they didn't believe me. They-they just fucking _laughed_," Pete hissed, pained and barely lucid as a horrible, retching laugh gurgled from ruined lips.

Somewhere behind him he was aware of Carol and Michonne moving forward. Of Eric hobbling to his feet, ghosting along the sidelines of his vision, bandages trailing. Precursors to the tide of people – Deanna, Reg, Olivia, Tobin, Spencer, and more - about to surge forward and try to make themselves useful.

Anything to lessen the coarseness of it all as the collective shock and guilt thickened the air. Turning the room suffocating and tight as Pete yanked him down another inch – wavering and barely conscious. Looking like he was about to say something more before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped. A sudden dead weight that took them both down to the floor in a jarring, half-controlled fall that found them sprawled together.

His heart got caught in his throat when the angle caused Pete's head to fall back against his chest – a parody of a loving embrace – as he held the man gently, half-cradled as someone, Eric maybe, called for the first aid kit. All too conscious of the man's hurts as Pete looked up at him, eyes unfocused but strangely strong all the same.

"Y-you hit harder than she does. It's funny though, hers always hurt more…"

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter, please stay tuned!

**Reference:** A heartfelt thank you for onedayyoujustchange for vetting this story personally for me. I wanted to ensure I portrayed the subject matter both accurately and respectfully. I hugely appreciate your professional and personal guidance on this matter, my dear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is inspired by the popular "Jessie as the abuser rather than Pete" theory expanded on by Ikkleosu. Despite prevailing spoilers debunking the idea, I couldn't let this intriquing idea for a twist go so easily. Please use your discretion while reading, this story deals with some heavy subject material. – The second chapter and third chapters are told in Eric's perspective.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all the ASZ episodes. Follows the idea of fitting into canon as a 'missing scene' type of fic whenever the big reveal happens. *****Contains: adult language, adult content, allusions to domestic violence &amp; domestic abuse, alcoholism, blood, violence, broken bones, physical and emotional spousal abuse, potentially triggering scenes, language and allusion to past and present abuse, after-care and a few heart to hearts.

**Sleeping Sirens (a thousand curses on you and yours lest you dismiss my fears)**

_**Chapter Two**_

It seemed a pretty safe thing to say that no one expected it when he hobbled to the forefront – ankle throbbing. Taking charge despite the fact that there were at least half a dozen more qualified voices in the room.

"Get him up," he ordered, voice trembling with emotion as Rick pried himself away from Pete's unconscious form – slumped in a dead faint across the bloodied rug. Crooked fingers twitching fitfully as the taller man curled into himself. Seeking safety in even the blackest of places.

"Gently," he murmured, swallowing hard. Pity and empathy clouding the words as Tobin and Reg moved forward, gingerly working Pete's layers back down to cover his bruised chest and nail-slashed hips. A herald to lost dignity everywhere as the darkened hue of new and old wounds were summarily covered by bloody cotton and white pin-stripes. "….I think he's suffered enough."

Somewhere in the background the hushed whispering had already started.

_Had no one known?_

_Why hadn't he said anything?_

_How could none of them have realized?_

_They would have been happy to help!_

_Poor man! If only he'd said something!_

_Why had he stayed?_

_What about the children?_

_What were they going to do with Jessie?_

_She was their mother after all, really, what-_

"He and the kids will be staying with me while you get this figured out," he explained firmly, directing the last bit to Deanna as he leaned heavily into the padded curve of his crutches. "Or for however long he likes. I don't care what you do, or how, but being in this house while- while _she_ is still here is the last thing any of them need right now."

Deanna just nodded. Turning her gaze – equal parts piercing and conflicted - on Rick as the deputy let go of an unintelligible sound. All betrayed confusion and unmuted distress as Michonne gripped his shoulder, talking quietly.

"Lay him out in the guest bedroom, please," he instructed, watching as Reg and Tobin hefted Pete with difficulty, eventually aided by Spencer as they made for the front door - grunting at the solid weight.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a framed snap-shot of a Great Horned Owl taking flight from its place on the center mantle. Cheeks red and tinged with a bitter pale he hardly recognized as he wobbled unsteadily, tensor bandages trailing. Marveling at the conviction and strength that had quickly taken the place of the uselessness and uncertainty that had gripped him when Rick had burst in – yelling. Using the blunt of his fists to get his point across as Pete's body had concaved. Reducing itself down to counter-measures and self-preservation rather than answering the aggression Rick rained down on him in the form of harsh blows and accusing words.

_Pete's body language had been all wrong. Twisted. Backwards. In hindsight he should have known. He'd noticed the strange way the man had been holding himself when he'd leaned down to check his ankle. Careful and brittle, like one wrong move and he'd break. He'd tried to get Rick to stop, to just wait half a moment, but-_

And despite the fact that part of him couldn't find it in him to blame him, another part, just as vocal, seemed content to hold the man to his actions as his gaze fell across Rick's blank stare. Eying him down - fire-bright - as he limped towards the door. Expression laced with anger and no small measure of disgust before he let his eyes slide past. Ignoring him cleanly before turning his attention to the room at large, bringing order to the stunned and silent.

"Olivia? Could we get a few blow-up mattresses from storage? And the first aid kit, if it isn't too much trouble?" he asked, sending her a small smile as nearly every gaze in the room followed him with interest.

"Of-of course," Olivia assured, slightly breathless. Tearing her eyes away from the scene as she jingled her keys and trotted out the door. Collecting a couple of bystanders to help as she cut across the front lawn. Clearly grateful for something to do as half the crowd ambled after her.

He threw the rest of the words over his shoulder as he followed the three-man stretcher out the door. Steadfastly ignoring the way Rick was still crumpled against the wall. Muted and shocked through between the crouched forms of both Michonne and Carol like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Keep the kids away. They don't need to see this. Stall them if you have to. But I want to get him cleaned up a bit first."

He let the door slam shut behind him. Content to let them feel it - wallow in it – as he stepped out into the bright sunshine. He didn't feel like Pete owed them any explanations and neither did he.

Truth was, they had bigger problems.

* * *

He was nearly at the end of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" when Pete finally began to stir. Twitching fitfully in the sheets like a swimmer trying to break water as he bent the page to mark his place and set the book aside. But unfortunately for them both, the transition wasn't a gentle one.

Pete jerked awake like whip-lash. Like he fully expected something cruel and harsh to have crept in during the intervening moments. Hovering just out of sight to deliver some sort of hulking punishment he could neither see, nor hear despite the fact that the man cringed instinctively. Harsh breaths ringing out into the still as Pete tried to curl into himself. Only to cry out when his ruined torso negated the majority and had him scrambling for purchase across the mattress – limbs flying.

"Shhh, no-_hey_ you're safe-_you're safe_," he murmured softly, careful to keep his hands up and unthreatening. Close enough to give comfort, but not close enough to be suffocating as he hummed soothingly. "It's over, you're with friends. You're safe."

For a long, tenuous second he thought the man was going to bolt. Every inch of him on point as he tried to see out of two swollen eyes. Cataloging his surroundings, the unfamiliar room, him, the door, before turning back to him, the panicked tint softening slightly. Coming back down in fractions as the man ran a shaking hand through his hair. Flakes of dried blood fluttering down like paper rain after every pass.

"Eric? What are you-….the kids?" Pete croaked, "Sam…Ron? Are they-"

"They're downstairs," he assured quickly. "Playing Clue and probably eavesdropping. So unless you're up for an invasion, I would recommend keeping your voice down," he continued, as level as possible as he sat back in his chair. Expression an open, careful neutral as Pete watched him closely – _warily_. Breathing slowly spiraling down to something close to normal. Easing the painful hitch of his chest as the physician pulled himself upright against the headboard – wincing.

"They're really worried about you. Olivia is on the front porch. And I don't think she's liable to be leaving anytime soon either. I wouldn't cross her, personally. I don't think I've ever seen anything more terrifying than Olivia with her back up," he shared with a smile, hoping to get a glimmer of_ something_ from the man until the frankness of Pete's reply ruined all chance of that.

"I have," Pete replied, looking away. Voice so quiet it might have been a whisper as the mid-day sun streamed through the blinds. Evidence enough that the world still turned. Whether they were ready for it or not.

And honestly, he really didn't know what to say to that.

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter, stay tuned.

**Reference:** Thank you to onedayyoujustchange for vetting this story in its entirety. I hugely appreciated your professional and personal guidance on this matter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is inspired by the popular "Jessie as the abuser rather than Pete" theory expanded on by Ikkleosu. Despite prevailing spoilers debunking the idea, I couldn't let this intriquing idea for a twist go so easily. Please use your discretion while reading, this story deals with some heavy subject material. – The second chapter and third chapters are told in Eric's perspective.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all the ASZ episodes. Follows the idea of fitting into canon as a 'missing scene' type of fic whenever the big reveal happens. *****Contains: adult language, adult content, allusions to domestic violence &amp; domestic abuse, alcoholism, blood, violence, broken bones, physical and emotional spousal abuse, potentially triggering scenes, language and allusion to past and present abuse, after-care and a few heart to hearts.

**Sleeping Sirens (a thousand curses on you and yours lest you dismiss my fears)**

_**Chapter Three**_

"Do you have anything to drink?" Pete croaked, eventually breaking the silence just when he thought the man might have fallen asleep sitting up. Finding it hard to tell through the sticky lashes and swollen lids as Pete clicked his jaw experimentally. Testing the give and gingerly probing a spot that had already started coloring. Dark with what promised to be a truly spectacular bruise.

_It was probably going to put Aaron's old one from Rick to shame, easy._

He handed him a glass of water without reply. Trying not to look like he noticed when the man struggled to sip it down. Split lips cracking as he took a couple of swallows and made a face.

"Water? Really?" Pete remarked, sighing disdainfully before emptying it all the same. "Don't you have anything stronger?"

"You drink too much, Pete," he replied, as firm as he dared before folding his hands primly in his lap. Watching the man watch him before Pete snorted – a mirthless, sour sort of sound that faded out almost as soon as it was voiced.

"You're probably right."

The quiet that spanned was less than wholesome. Stained through with the smell of antiseptic and sweat as Pete sipped slowly at his refilled glass, plucking idly at the bandages wrapped around his chest and the cooling plaster on his broken cheekbone with growing interest.

"Did you do these?"

He nodded, pleased. "Pre-med remember? And I had help anyway," he added, suppressing a wince as his overused ankle twinged in reminder.

"Who?"

"Carol. Olivia was here for a bit, but she found out pretty quickly she doesn't do well with the sight of blood, so she regulated herself to the duty of guard dog," he explained fondly, remembering the way she'd bustled out the door, stomping down the porch to clear the small crowd of onlookers who'd started gathering on the lawn. "You couldn't ask for anyone better in my opinion."

"Huh, I didn't think she liked me very much," Pete commented, nonplussed. Tipping his head from side to side, trying to ease the sore muscles in his neck. "Carol, I mean. She came to the door the other day, asking about Sam, I, well-"

"I don't know think she understood what was going on," he countered, fingers drumming against the leg of his jeans thoughtfully. Mulling over the words as he spoke without filter. Unwilling to start telling half-truths now that Pete was listening without censure. "Not many did, I think."

"She told me Sam had started hanging out at her place – getting clingy. And that she suspected you were beating Jessie, maybe even the kids. She apologized, more than once if it makes a difference. Came here just as we got you settled with a couple med-kits and more than a bit of experience. She didn't say it, but I think she told Rick what she thought she knew and he took it from there."

The corner of Pete's mouth twitched, straining to pull upward before the thick of the plaster stopped the movement. Making a soft sound in the back of his throat as he closed his eyes, slumping against the headboard with a quiet huff.

"At least they both had their priorities in order-" the taller man murmured, turning his head so that his discolored skin kissed the sun. "-the kids. Good to know there are people other than me looking out for them. Takes a village, right?"

"Rick was thinking with his _dick_," he replied bluntly. Cutting in almost angrily, unwilling to let Pete doll out credit where it wasn't deserved.

He shook his head when Pete cracked a lid at him. Surprised by the forcefulness behind it or maybe just the fact that someone was taking his side for once as he sat up straighter in his chair, setting his book off to the side with a decisive slam. Fighting off the after-images of Rick losing control like he were swallowing down bile. Imagining he could feel the brunt of it as Rick had seized the reeling man by the throat. Refusing to back down even when Pete made no move to retaliate.

_That should have been the man's first clue._

_But he hadn't wanted to see._

_He'd only wanted to see what he believed - what he thought – confirmed._

"Carol was, well- she was thinking more with her heart," he allowed, running a hand through his short hair. Missing Aaron keenly as he mulled over how his partner was going to take all this. "You two might have more in common than you think, if I'm right."

It took a minute for comprehension to dawn. But when it did, he was surprised at the conflicted expression that flickered across Pete's bruised face. He sipped at his own glass quietly, hoping the man might take heart knowing that even at the end of the world, he was not alone. As terrible a thing as it was.

"At least-at least we didn't go through the window," Pete commented finally, the ghost of a smile attempting to make tracks as the attempt at humor startled a full out laugh from him.

"So cliché," he agreed, chuckling. "That would have been utterly unforgivable."

He let his thumb coast across the side of the book cover, smoothing the feathered pages with a series of even, rhythmic strokes. Giving the man a chance to think, to collect himself and decide how he wanted to rebuild his barriers as Pete stared down at his lap aimlessly.

"Is Rick-?"

"Honestly, I don't know, after the fight, well- he shut down," he answered, a bit too quick on the mark in his hurry to banish the strained silence. "Deanna and Michonne are dealing with him I think. I can check if you want?" he offered.

But instead of answering Pete just gave him the side-eye. Resigned. Peering through puffy-red lids like he was honestly waiting for him to say something else. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, nervous but resolved to wait the older man out.

"Don't you want to know why I stayed?" Pete finally rasped, avoiding his gaze as he looked about the room at random, determinedly not looking at him. "Why I-I- took it?"

"Only if you want to tell me," he answered honestly. Relieved to find that the response was automatic. All but ingrained after a couple dozen NGO seminars too many. Either that or it was just human. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was instinctual and what had been taught – learned by example over the span of one's formative years until all natural meaning was lost.

"You don't owe anyone anything, Pete. No explanations. Nothing."

"Maybe I do," Pete returned, self-scathing, tone harsh under a rattling cough that made him clutch at his ribs. Knuckles going white under the strain. "Maybe I should. I let it go on too long. The kids-they didn't deserve that."

"Neither did you," he insisted, leaning forward as Pete jerked back – startled at the sudden move.

But if the man heard the words, he gave no sign.

Instead, he just started talking. Hedging at first, but then faster and faster. Like if he stumbled, if he tripped over any of the words he'd stall and never be able to start again. Forcing him by proxy to sit and simply listen as what felt like years of physical and emotional abuse went free-falling without filter. Showing no sign of stopping even when the light from outside started to lessen, greying out in fractions, and Pete's voice morphed into something pain-laced and hoarse.

"-so, with my hours at the clinic and the mandatory shifts at emergency, there was no way in hell I could bargain for even a measure of full custody. I tried to get part time, but my student loans and- well, in the end she'd get at least partial custody. And I knew that if I left there was a chance, a chance she'd take the kids. Or take it out on the kids and I couldn't- I couldn't let that happen…" Pete remarked, trailing off lamely in favor of rubbing his hands over his face. Self-loathing almost tangible before he shook his head, laughing cruelly at himself.

"I swore that once upon a time that actually made sense," he sighed, defeated, eyes blank as he stared – wounded and severe – at the opposing wall. "Sound pretty pathetic, doesn't it? Or at least that's what people are going to believe, anyway."

"People tend to believe what makes sense to them. Me and Aaron? We don't make sense to most of them, maybe even you for all I know. You and Jessie?" he replied, regretting the name immediately as the man flinched. "It's same thing. It's not how the narrative is supposed to go, in their heads," he finished looping his fingers around his head once, then twice, as if to illustrate his point as Pete surprised him by nodding.

Somewhere outside, the sound of raised voices rose and fell, waspish and angry until he leaned back and shut the window with a snap. Disliking the way the mere sound had made the man tense all over again.

"What happens now?" Pete ventured, eyes darting from the door to the window, then back again. Only relaxing when a handful of moments trickled by and the only sound was the quiet discussion from downstairs as Sam and Ron debated whether the dice landing off the board was cheating.

It was the familiarity of that, perhaps more than anything, that put Pete at ease. Sighing audibly as his throat worked around a set of hand-print bruises. Struggling against the thickness around his windpipe as he emptied another glass of water in short order - lids drooping.

"At the risk of sounding absolutely patronizing, what do you think happens now? What do you _want_ to happen now?" he answered, not quite managing to mask his wrinkled nose as his lips twitched at the cliché. Having tried and failed to find some other way to say it before giving up for the sake of continuing the conversation. He didn't want the man to clam up now. Whatever the course, it was time to face what had been happening – what _was_ happening - not run from it.

"Pete, I honestly mean this when I say that everything is up to you now," he continued, sitting up straighter in his chair as he fixed the man with an assessing look. "It's your call. _Yours_. And no matter what happens out there, that's how it's going to stay. She can't hurt you anymore. Not you. Not the kids. Not even your future. Whatever she had over you, that's over. _Done_."

The bed creaked as Pete shifted. The staunch sound of red-wood warping against its binding screws as the larger man looked over at him. Wordless but thoughtful.

"From where I'm sitting that sounds too good to be true," Pete finally admitted, huffing a mirthless chuckle into the scraped curl of his palm. Eye flickering over the traffic signs they'd nailed to the wall over the past year. _Four way stop, U-turn, _before skittering way nervously from the_ Dead End _centered by the far closet.

"Take it one step at a time," he suggested, as soothing as possible without straying into anything disingenuous. "You have the entire community behind you. Let them do the heavy lifting. Stick with what is happening right now – what _you_ want to do right now."

Pete's expression was washed out as he met his gaze. Half-lidded and etched through with more than a little bit of pain until he nudged a couple pain killers in the man's direction. Taking note of the way the man swallowed them easily, the water more of an afterthought than anything as his chin dipped low.

"I'm tired…"

"Then sleep," he returned, smiling small as the man sunk down in the sheets, seemingly surprised at his own candor as sallow eyes fluttered closed. Exhausted and deep-set as bruised fingers fisted at the comforter worriedly. "We'll all be here when you wake up, I promise."

The breathy huff half-startled him when Pete turned his back, taking most of the sheets with him. "That's what she always said," the man murmured, half out of it. Speaking more to himself as his words started to slur around the edges. "I promise…I promise. She cheapened it."

"But I am _not_ her," he returned softly, sympathetic tears prickling as the full breadth of what this man had suffered – what this family had suffered – grew staggeringly heavy in his mind's eye. "And I'm not going anywhere."

_No one deserved this._

_To be used so harshly by someone who was supposed to love them._

"Follow through on that and maybe it will be a start," Pete returned, the muscles in his shoulders uncoiling slowly as sleep coasted in at the wings. Taking the man easily as he wobbled quietly to his feet, shaking out one of the patch-work quilts and covering him gently as a congested snore wheezed out into the hush.

"You can count on it, Pete."

It seemed only fitting, in a place that was all about second chances, that Pete and his boys would get a second chance of their own. A new life rich with everything their community could provide and more - if Deanna had anything to say about it.

After all, this place wasn't just a community, it was a _future_.

He had a feeling that given time, even Pete would come to appreciate the sentiment.

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.

**Reference:** Final thank you to onedayyoujustchange for vetting this story in its entirety. I hugely appreciated your professional and personal guidance during the course of this story and I would have been nervous indeed in posting it without your assurances.


End file.
